


Nightmares

by Stratagem



Series: Among the Gifted [5]
Category: The Gifted - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen, Mutant Powers, Nightmares, Thunderblink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:03:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stratagem/pseuds/Stratagem
Summary: Clarice can't sleep. She's not the only one.





	Nightmares

**Author's Note:**

> I love Thunderblink, and I am sold on this ship. Also, I fully believe in the idea that John truly cares about everyone in the Mutant Underground. A LOT. Great leader guy.

It's her first night out of the infirmary, but Clarice can't sleep. It's not like she has a roommate to keep her awake or anything, she has a room to herself, but the nightmares are back. They've been worse ever since she got sick. Sometimes she's trapped, white walls closing in on her, crushing her limbs, pressing her to the floor, a collar tightening around her neck. Sometimes she's back on the streets, her portals flickering out, useless as she runs from the shadows behind her.

The nightmares chase her out of bed and into the hall. Zingo follows her, close on her heels, her warm, fluffy presence making Clarice feel a little better, a little calmer. The dog had jumped onto the mattress when she went to bed that evening, but even the pup couldn't keep the nightmares away. Still, she liked the company. Dogs are great like that, they love you no matter if you have purple hair, crazy green eyes, and pink marks and happened to cut their favorite toy in half. Which, you know, means dogs are about a thousand times better than humans.

No wonder the Mutant Underground has its very own dog.

She walks around the halls of the HQ and finds herself in one of the common areas. Everyone else is asleep or at least in their rooms, so she has the place to herself. Picking one of the comfiest couches that's near a window, she flops down onto the cushions. Moonlight plays on her skin as Zingo hops up beside her, pressing against her side, her chin on Clarice's lap.

She's not a stranger to sleepless nights, but at least she's safe here. It's not a dark alley or a cell or under a bridge. Dust motes twirl in the moonlight, and she waves her hand, tossing them into a wild dance. She pets Zingo and closes her eyes, resting but not sleeping.

A noise catches her attention as someone steps into the common area, and Zingo's ears perk up. Clarice sits up, her body protesting. She's still sore from the other day, but she moves through it, not wanting to be caught sprawled out on the couch by another late-night wanderer. She's ready for when she'll get asked about why she's still awake, ready to retort that it's really none of their business.

She's surprised when she sees that it's one of the kids, the girl with butterfly wings. Riley? Yeah, Riley. The one John has a true soft spot for. She's in PJ shorts and a tank top, slits cut in the back of the shirt so her wings can fit through.

"Hey, kid, you should be in bed. Aren't you afraid of the dark?" Clarice says, relaxing a little. Kids aren't as bad as adults.

But Riley doesn't respond. Zingo whines and jumps off the couch, trotting over to the little girl. Clarice frowns and stands up, watching Riley. The girl's dark eyes are unfocused and she's moving slowly, lethargic.

"Kid?" Clarice says, walking toward the girl, "You okay?"

She reaches for Riley's shoulder, but a hand wraps around her elbow and pulls her back. Clarice tries to whip around, prepared to fight, but then she realizes who grabbed her and stops. It would break her hand if she hit him anyways.

"Don't," John whispers, so close that his breath brushes her ear, "You'll wake her up."

"Are you part cat or something?" she whispers back, "I didn't even hear you."

"No, I'm a tracker, which is much better," he says and then lets her go. He held her longer than he needed to, but Clarice doesn't call him out on it.

"What's wrong with her?" she asks as they both follow Riley. Zingo goes with them, right between her and John.

"She sleepwalks. She doesn't do it as much anymore, but sometimes—"

Riley veers toward the stairs, and Zingo heads her off, the dog getting between the kid and the steps. Riley's wings flick halfway out as she bumps into the dog, and she blinks, an awareness chasing the fog out of her eyes. She gasps, looking around rapidly, but John's kneeling in front of her a second later, his hands on her cheeks, keeping her eyes on him, focusing her.

"Hey, you're all right," he said, his voice soft and calm, "You're okay."

She gasps again, like she can't catch her breath. "They were yellin'— They said I was bad—"

"Riley, look at me. It was a bad dream, kiddo, I promise."

"I don't wanna go back," she says, trembling, her wings shaking, "Don't make me go, please, please, John."

"You're not going anywhere," John says, and she drops against him, still shaking. He stands up, the kid balanced on his hip as he holds her. He meets Clarice's eyes and nods toward the couches, silently welcoming her to come with him. She's not going to sleep any time soon, and now she's worried about the kid, too, imagine that, so she decides it won't hurt to tag along.

John sits on one end of a couch and Clarice claims the other end, tucking herself into the corner. Zingo lays down on the rug, still whining softly. There are blankets draped across the back of the couch, and John grabs two. He tosses one to Clarice and it lands on her bare feet where she leaves it for now. The other he uses to wrap around Riley. Her wings are folded tight to her back now, but Clarice wonders how they work. If they were really like butterfly wings, wouldn't the dust rub off of them?

They're all quiet, and eventually Riley relaxes, her breathing evening out and her head falling onto John's shoulder as she goes back to sleep. Clarice picks up the blanket from her feet and drapes it over her legs as she curls more into the couch.

"She's a firestarter. That's why I didn't want you to wake her up."

Clarice straightens, surprised. She hadn't heard that yet, she just thought that Riley's mutations were her looks.

"She gets disoriented if you wake her up, and she's caught the HQ on fire before." John says softly, looking at her over Riley's head. "She doesn't have much control yet."

"Is that why you keep buckets and extinguishers everywhere?" She's noticed them, how could you not. They're hidden, but they're tucked all over the place.

John gives a wry smile. "One of the reasons. Marcos is another one. And there are a few more."

"Super safe operation you're running here." She doesn't know why she says that, why she takes that jab at him. Wait, no, she does know. It's a defense mechanism against the smile and how it presses against her walls.

John, however, doesn't take the bait. "We do what we can."

They're both silent for a while, and Clarice reaches down and starts petting Zingo again. She looks at Riley as she sleeps in John's arms, nestled close against him. Her wings are poking over the top of the blanket, and Clarice studies the colors, pink and black, like Riley's hair. There are white spots and highlights too. They're beautiful.

"They're not actually like butterfly wings."

Clarice flicks her eyes to John, wondering if he's telepathic on top of everything else. But no, he probably just caught her staring. She doesn't say anything since that would be admitting he caught her.

"They're more like bat wings," he says, and shifts the blanket so that more of Riley's wings are exposed. "She won't mind if you touch one. She's proud of them now."

Which meant that at some point she wasn't. Clarice hesitates, but she's also terribly curious. The curiosity wins out and she unfolds from her corner, reaching out to brush a finger against the girl's wings. They are _so_ soft, like touching a baby rabbit's short fur, and now she can see the bone structure under the wings. The coloring and shape is like a butterfly's but John's right, they're different.

"Where was she before here?" Clarice asks. It's a rude question, one she wouldn't ask if she wasn't so tired and if the kid was actually awake. But she's sleepy and wondering, and he's there. Might as well ask.

"Me, Marcos and Lorna found her in a county fair side show," John said, the words edged with a bad memory, "Her parents sold her off. It happens sometimes with the kids." He glances at her and shuts up, probably because he realizes that she already knows that. She was one of _those_ kids. "She's been here for about a year."

"Really?" Clarice's eyebrows arch. "I thought you brought people in then sent them out."

"Most of the time, yeah," John says, "But then there are people who are harder to place."

Or harder to let go of. John is probably being overprotective, but maybe that's what the kid needs, someone to look out for her.

"You going to bed any time soon?" he asks.

"Nah," she says, "I'll let you keep me company."

He snorts. "Do you want me to say I'm honored?"

"You should be."

John smothers a laugh with his hand and readjusts, putting his legs up on the couch beside Clarice's. He looks at her like he expects her to say something, but she doesn't. So what if their legs would be touching if it wasn't for the blanket. Doesn't matter.

After a while, John nods off, Riley curled up against him like a kitten. Clarice watches them, watches a lock of John's hair fall in his face, his head resting against Riley's, a steady protective presence. It must be like having a Grizzly bear as a guardian. Clarice takes her blanket and spreads it across John's legs too, just in case Mr. Indestructible actually gets cold.

That's how Marcos finds all three of them in the morning, crashed out on the couch as HQ starts to wake up around them.

 


End file.
